The Fisherman,The Seahorse,The Phone

The theory is if you come to Mexico you will be forced to pay bribes, you will be otherwise robbed and set upon by hordes of locals anxious to enjoy the fruits of your expensive gringo lifestyle. That’s the theory. 

So far we have avoided the negative stereotypes but I have fallen hopelessly into the positive stereotype of the happy retiree. I have always wrinkled my nose at retired people who “need to keep busy.”  I’m happy with a book on my phone and a sunny day. We don’t have enough money to hire staff or to run an organization but we have enough to live.

Then you see a Mexican standing on the beach sorting out his nets. He puts a sack full of sand on each end as an anchor and then they walk the net out into the water. In January. I have no idea what their retirement plan is but I suspect it involves doing the sane thing until you are too broken to continue and you hope your sons are in a position to look after you.

We live in a two million peso van with all the modern conveniences and no debt. Imagine what you have at home compared to a man who lives with an electric light bulb and a propane burner and a dirt floor. We’re the lucky ones. 

Rusty does all right compared to local dogs. I gave this one some food which he enjoyed but didn’t finish. Rusty was not happy and saw him off even though I was careful not be affectionate with the black dog with a collar. Later Rusty saw a couple of local dogs wandering this way at our end of the road and he got to his feet, fired his afterburners and took off barking like a local. They ran. He sat in the road and made sure of their intentions. I was slightly amazed. My dog is becoming a local. Of course he gets proper meals, treats, affection and of course room inside our home any time he wants. Mexican dogs though not actually strays are not so lucky when their owners are on the lower social strata.
We were hanging around on a hot sunny morning yesterday feeling lucky to have a bright day mediated by a cool fresh breeze blowing through GANNET2. No sweat and no shivering made it a perfect day. Then we saw a Mexican walking toward us. We knew this spot was too good to be true and each of us, independently of the other, made plans to pack up and get going from this idyllic spot.

The brown leathery face broke into an apologetic smile. “My friend is too shy to ask but he was wondering if you could charge his phone?” Rogelio was carrying a cell phone with plug and cord so it was easy to help out. His gaze ran over the home on wheels as he explained they used the flashlight on the phone to work their nets after dark. 

Layne told me with some pride she has used every single container she stores in the microwave. Not that big of a deal, right? Imagine what Rogelio’s wife uses in her kitchen…He came by later to check on the phone in case we were planning on leaving. No worries I said we plan to be here till Sunday, I said. He looked relieved. But tomorrow for sure he said worried we might drive off with his friend’s phone. I reassured him. He showed me a little seahorse they had caught accidentally. I took a  hast fuzzy photo of the creature: 

It was beautiful but I urged him to put it back in the water. He said they aren’t legal to keep anyway and he walked back to his nets with the little creature that I hoped would live. We carried on with our day exercising napping and walking the chief security officer.

Clouds blew over and the breeze kicked in with enough strength to keep the mosquitoes at home and out of our lives. Lovely. The telephone owner found his courage and showed up with his buddy Rogelio: he’s the one in the Mercedes logo baseball cap. 

The phone owner, in the woolen watch cap, introduced himself as Cristobal. I said if he needed another charge to bring it by by Saturday at the latest. Why are you leaving Sunday, they asked. I pointed to the Admiral and she made a self deprecating noise. Maybe not Sunday she said. If it’s sunny…we gave Rogelio one of the flashlights we carry as gifts. They are small and powerful and we use ours all the time. He seemed genuinely grateful. 

Part of the pleasure of life is hanging with your buds, the work is physical but the sort of stress and deadlines of modern office life isn’t part of it. Ambition? Expectations? It’s in the children usually. To live like us without children and on our own without a family nearby is weird beyond understanding.
Mexico is a land of contrasts and poverty and generosity and kindness. I like the freedom we get traveling here. Don’t be an ass, be considerate and leave your pride at home. Just like you should when living at home. The freedom comes from living in a society where you are largely left to your own devices. The downside is you’ll have a hard time getting redress for injustice but the good part is your choices are yours to make.
I like the quiet of a spot like this. It suits me. I am not driven to be busy, to run peoples lives or spy on my neighbor’s bad behavior. I don’t get bored easily. 

Mountains And Beaches

This was a long day of huge contrasts in our drive south. We left our truck stop in Guaymas yesterday and took the expressway south which is  labeled 15D. In Mexico highways labeled with a D are toll (“cuota”) highways. We paid about $15 (US) for the drive from Guaymas  to Novojoa where we turned inland to visit the mountain town of Alamos (“poplar trees”). 

You might imagine that a toll road charging real money gives you access to unimpeded progress. Forget that. Much of the drive is smooth four lane with shoulders and guard rails and fenced to keep out livestock. Then out of nowhere you meet the real Mexico in the middle of the superhighway: 

And those goddamned topes (“topays”) show up suddenly to rattle your inattentive bones. In some spots local entrepreneurs gather at the speed bumps and offer local delicacies to make a buck.  We got some super spicy chilis from a guy in a wheelchair and a Dulce de Leche ( goat milk caramel) disc that my wife limited to just one as I would have eaten them all day. My sweet tooth. 

Navojoa was a dusty industrial town full of potholes and weaving motorcycles but it was the junction for the road east into the hills. I had imagined the drive to Alamos to be a winding mountain route full of hairpin bends and vast canyon views  through lush tropical foliage. I was a bit wrong on that! 

In fact the road was long, 35 miles long, straight and rose only  imperceptibly into the hills such that it was still 81 degrees warm in town and felt hot and dry. Sure enough it was a pretty town. 

The weird thing about Alamos is how the city feels. We drove through and could find no city center, no cathedral no plaza no central shared space. Beyond that every business related to food seemed closed. The food sellers on the street were closed, restaurants had their tables piled up and no sign of life. My fantasies of sitting at a sidewalk eatery were dashed. 

The streets were fashionably narrow but I got the Promaster through most of them without a problem. Sometimes I wondered if I had missed a one way street sign. Once I had to back up to make room for an an imperious executive driving a Coca Cola company microcar. I should have driven GANNET2 over him.

It was a pretty town but we couldn’t get a grip on it. We walked Rusty and then pulled over to eat at the Gannet Cafe. Layne made delicious avocado and deli meat sandwiches with the German bread from San Carlos. 

That was when a young man on a motorcycle pulled up. Layne was not happy. I had left her to walk Rusty while she made lunch and in that time three teenagers came over and started harassing her for money. She saw them off in Spanish a skill that shocked them but left her feeling like Alamos was a total dud. 

The young motorcyclist riding a nice clean Honda 150 dual sport admired the van and asked about the vehicle saying he was curious and wanted to do the same. He worked his way into a conversation despite our reticence. Nestor proved to be a really nice genuine guy. 

He was also a town booster promoting Alamos which was a bit awkward for us but he managed to turn us around. Check out this park he said and take your dog for a walk. He offered to show us the way. 

Nestor said good bye and we set off. It’s dry season so the greenery is hibernating and the trail was dusty but it was a relief to be shambling along, alone in the park. 

Rusty loved it. 

Watch out! Trail shared by hikers and cyclists! 

They put some effort into this place. Pretty impressive. 

Hot dog. 

We left some money in the donation box and left town glad to have made the effort to drive up and see the place. 

We drove back down to Navajoa the industrial city of 145,000 people astride the main highway. We crossed the highway dodging window washers trying to make a buck at the traffic lights. Covid hasn’t helped and poverty is visible all over the place. No jobs. Well everything happens for a reason. So they tell us from middle class America. A sentiment with which I do not agree. 

iOverlander, the best camping app showed a campground and a wild camp on the beach.  We needed an hour of daylight to drive 36 miles across agricultural country to the sea shore. How bad could the road be? An average speed of thirty miles an hour predicted by Google maps had me wondering how many potholes we would be dodging? Not that many it turned out but we crossed two towns and several villages. More poverty and dust and dogs hanging around their homes. It looked bleak for a while. 

We arrived around five pm with an hour before darkness to decide what to do. We had seen a couple of gas stations with parking spaces which we could use as back up parking spots if the beach didn’t work. Actually we passed the RV park, and to our surprise there were two giant trailers, fifth wheels technically, parked at waters edge. We travelers are everywhere! Who would have thunk? 

Some of the homes in Huatabampito were shacks and others were comfortable middle class beach homes. The asphalt ended and we picked our way through sand and packed dried mud to a point beyond the last shacks. 

Total isolation, a light north wind and a few drops of drizzle. We weren’t alone though as a couple of men were casting for fish off the beach, hauling weighted nets bodily into the surf. Not an easy life. 

Off shore we could lights appearing on shrimp boats on the flat water out at sea. Rusty got a burr in his foot which once removed left him free to end his own long day by running up and down the endless sand. Seen here inspecting the sand anchor at one end of the fisherman’s vast cast net in the surf. 

Soon enough they packed up and walked up the beach toward the village. That was when we discovered we were invaded by mosquitos all over the place. I have an electric zapper shaped like a tennis racquet and soon I was waving it around like a madman. I killed many but it seemed like they were reproducing in the van. Grrr. 

How long shall we stay? It depends on the weather. Some sunshine would be nice. That’s the point of our drive south and as far as that goes we are away from the worst effects of the cold up north.  That’s a start and there’s lots more beach to the south of us. It will be there when we get there. 

Busy Monday

Layne laughed at me when I complained my feet were sore and I was exhausted from all the faffing around getting stuff and loading stuff and cleaning stuff. “Wow,” she said. “This used to be just another day of getting stuff done.”  I’m retired now and mooning around walking my dog and making photos is more my speed. I got no mercy. 

We spent the morning doing laundry including rugs and seat covers and Rusty’s bed. The security guard at the truck stop made the point that deserts are cold at night. 

Layne spotted a military patrol taking a break at the truck stop as we vacuumed and swept GANNET2 and I rubbed the van cabin with Armorall to restore shiny black plastic. We’ve driven through four police checkpoints so far and never been stopped. Despite all talk of violence in Mexico we have seen nothing like that around here. 

Our first chore was to fill our water tank. We had about five gallons left in our thirty five gallon tank so we returned to the original purified water store to refill. First we stopped by Home Depot so I could buy two meters (6 feet) of 3/4 inch food grade hose. They sell five gallon jugs of water for 75 cents (15 pesos) per jug. Mexicans themselves like to drink purified water do what they do is buy an empty jug and exchange it for a full one. We simply park and empty the jugs directly into our tank. It’s easy and inexpensive. 

Bruce in Arizona had texted me suggesting a siphon hose. Not having anything so sophisticated I figured a simple length of hose would work. It did and it was easy. We still filter our drinking water through our Berkey filter but having purified water in the tank is one extra step in keeping life simple. We loaded thirty gallons for $4.50 with no effort and not too much spillage. 

Layne was watching the youngsters at the store having a good day at work.  

Lunch was next and with a slew of positive reviews on Google maps for this place: 

We had four different tacos which we shared and each had a cooling glass of horchata (rice water, a traditional sweet drink). 

The whole bill including a tip came to ten bucks. We were stuffed and skipped dinner as a consequence. 

Then we went back to Walmart where we managed to carry out the entry requirements without too much chaos. Hold out the back of your hand to have your temperature taken, walk through the disinfectant mat, wash your hands with a foot squirt of sanitizer. Everyone wears  masks, no question. 

There are of course local products that you won’t see in the US including 150cc motorcycles for $1300…”Saving is real”

The range of people shopping this supermarket will sink your Mexican preconceptions. This field worker doesn’t belong…or does he? 

I will confess that getting the 21 foot Promaster 3500 extended into Mexican sized parking spaces can be a bit of a chore. There are lots of American full sized trucks and SUVs on the streets but there are also tons of very small cars that you will never see in the US, models from manufacturers you recognize and from others you won’t - lots of Peugeots and Renaults and the like. The van dwarfs them and usually I get more respect than you expect. 

However the parking spaces are small the travel lanes often poorly defined and driving requires paying close attention. It’s tiring! 

Layne got her fifty dollar teeth cleaning by an English speaking dentist who trained in Tucson, meanwhile Rusty and I went for a walk and he met a local. 

After the tooth cleaning done sugar was in order apparently and we ate ice creams almost as expensive as lunch! A rare treat and much enjoyed. Rusty preferred my pistachio cone to Laynes butter pecan I think. 

Then back to the truck stop with all chores done and a chance to rest in preparation for our drive south to Alamos. 

How was your Monday? Equally frenetic? I hope not.